


i'm a quick death wrapped in a threat

by meios



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Bathroom Sex, Biting, Blood, Consensual Sex, M/M, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of alcohol, Mutual Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 15:14:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17347526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meios/pseuds/meios
Summary: yixing's stopped questioning how he gets into the situations that he does, especially with baekhyun's tongue down his throat.





	i'm a quick death wrapped in a threat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [noctiphany](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noctiphany/gifts).



The sound of it echoes when he’s slammed against the bathroom stall, head whipping back to meet the harsh tile, but not before his grunts of pain are overtaken by a mouth covering his own. An embrace of limbs over a toilet: he finds hands that suit his, that wrestle away his jacket and toss it to the grimy floor below them, that find the holsters for his guns strapped under his armpits and haphazardly undo them, taking the weapons away and stuffed into a back pocket for safekeeping. He would fight for them were it not for the way his arms are currently slinking around the other man’s neck, easy liquor making for easy movements, chasing vodka and cranberry on flitting tongues.

 

“Yixing,” mumbles the other man, face buried into his neck, lips like poison making quick work of once perfect skin, teeth as daggers. “ _Fuck_.”

 

Yixing doesn’t answer, tugging at the man’s hair, sharp pulls relinquishing quiet, desperate noises; he guides him back, licks into a plush mouth once more. Around him, an alarm is sounding, shrill as music notes as electric guitars, and there is blood splattered on the button-down that the other man is undoing for him, the red staining his chest and there is an earpiece hooked up to him that has a voice in it asking what the hell is going on, but he can’t— _won’t_ respond right now, no, not with the way the man is grinding against him, all sure thrusts and skilled hands.

 

It’s fast, too fast, the way that Yixing falls apart for him, the way the man, Baekhyun, has him wrapped around his little finger like they’ve known each other for years, have _done this_ for longer, and maybe they have, maybe he can’t remember with such heady arousal fogging up his thoughts just like the alcohol, and when Baekhyun presses close, Yixing presses back.

 

“Who _are_ you?” he has the mind to ask as he reluctantly releases black locks, moves to chase the droplet of sweat currently racing down Baekhyun’s neck, unbuttoning his shirt as he goes.

 

“Who cares?”

 

“Korean,” says Yixing. He shoves here, Baekhyun’s spine meeting the opposite wall, latching on to the collarbone that slowly appears to his gaze, bruises that threaten to purple blossoming like flowers.

 

“And you’re not,” Baekhyun responds. He bares his throat. “ _Who cares_?”

 

“Point.”

 

And there is one, he’s sure of it; there’s a point to all of this: to the way Baekhyun had sidled over to him at the party, to the way the drinks had been simple and sweet, to the way the gun had gone off and Baekhyun had grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and fought back for him. There are tears in the fabric of his shirt, of his slacks, from bullets and from knives and the shock of cranberry might just be blood on his teeth, but Yixing pushes that away for now.

 

The most pressing matter is slotting himself against the hardness of Baekhyun’s groin, swallowing every moan and immediately creating a new one. He grips whatever he can find, palming a bicep, a throat, and squeezing lightly before moving down and around, and their pants are opened and unceremoniously shoved down with fumbled movements, breathy exhales of each other’s name. Baekhyun leans over, bites Yixing’s chin, kisses him soundly.

 

The man takes the both of them in hand without much pretense, eliciting a surprised gasp from Yixing as he moves, the rings on his fingers adding a strange kind of sensation that pushes the edge of too much. It’s a dance, in a way, strange in the newness and yet there is familiarity all over it in how they bite and groan and thrust, and Yixing is talking more than he’s ever spoken before, dirty words falling unabashedly from a red-bruised mouth, whispers and promises that won’t be honored, but the visions of a hotel bed, of Baekhyun’s legs wrapped around his waist, of silk and clean bedsheets and taking their time are all too much to keep hidden.

 

Baekhyun keens, barely audible over the building’s alarm still going off. He bucks his hips, free hand moving up to clutch Yixing’s face, guide it back to him. The kiss is heated, transcending language until passion begets nobility, and it’s akin to royalty in how they chase feeling after feeling in the only way they know how: no holds barred, everything on the table.

 

When he comes, Baekhyun doesn’t stop, going faster even until Yixing is breaking skin with his teeth, blood springing from the wound in an attempt to stop the scream that still escapes him, hot breath in his ear in this godforsaken toilet in this building he’d rather burn down, and his legs tremble and his hands don’t know where to go, reaching down to bring Baekhyun closer, closing around his ass, around the guns—

 

The guns.

 

In retrospect, the image is probably more hilarious than intimidating, but his guns are in his hands again, and pressed to Baekhyun’s temples, he thinks they’re even more beautiful: all three of them, the flawless pair and the flawless man. The safeties are off, but his fingers don’t dare come close to the triggers, only grinning like a devil when Baekhyun’s questioning whine breaks off into a moan.

 

Cold metal to his head, it’s enough to make any man fall apart.

 

When Yixing comes, it’s with a muffled noise, kissing Baekhyun before he forgets how to, like it’s the only thing in the world he’s truly meant to do. He’s good at it, he’s _great_ at it, could kiss this man until the world ends, and with the way Baekhyun’s dirty fingers are slipping into his belt loops, tugging him back to the wall, he agrees.

 

Yixing’s arms fall back to his sides, guns still right where they’re meant to be, and he refuses to be the one to break the kiss.

 

When Baekhyun parts from him, it’s with another whine, a shorter kiss. “They’ll be looking for you,” he says, doing Yixing’s zip for him, focusing on buttoning his shirt. Yixing tries to kiss him again. “Your team, too.”

 

His team. Right. He can hear his handler in the background, swearing up a storm. He almost feels guilty.

 

“Come with me,” Yixing says lamely.

 

“I already have.”

 

“You know what I mean.”

 

Baekhyun smiles, and despite looking so wrecked, his voice remains steady, hands unshaken as he drapes Yixing’s jacket over his shoulders. “You’ll see me again,” he promises.

 

Yixing pauses as he’s pushed out of the stall, reaching over to kiss him one last time, and it’s with an unbidden passion that he can’t find the source to, only the result, and Baekhyun runs a palm over his throat, through his hair; Yixing memorizes the taste of vodka and cranberry on his tongue. “If I don’t, I’ll find you,” he whispers.

 

“I know,” replies Baekhyun, retreating back to the stall, the door slipping closed. Under the gap, Yixing sees the jacket he’d thrown away being collected, his heart racing, adrenaline there. When he runs, he doesn’t look back.

 

*****

 

The headquarters is quiet this late at night, and Yixing is grateful for the balm for his headache. Being chewed out had been expected, but it never lessens the blow of it, and even now, ghosting over the marks on his neck, the bruises on his mouth, he can’t find it in himself to regret anything. Truly, he feels rejuvenated, restless.

 

He’ll be seeing Baekhyun again, after all.


End file.
